Fire Emblem: Phoenix's Uprising
by Xstrike
Summary: The Empire of Kallra destroyed Trotts' village, and his life, and seek to do the same to others. Can he stop them?
1. Chapter 1: Insufficient

****Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem, only my characters and place names. My first story guys, so please R&R, and enjoy I hope!

Chapter One: Insufficient 

_The continent of Zelena is divided into seven nations; Jasale, the desert kingdom; Epesa, the great plains, housing numerous nomad tribes; Norvard, a consulate of ice and snow, far in the frozen northlands; Tebra, a country of scholars, where magic reigns supreme; Moadu, the most powerful military force on the continent; and the growing expansionist empire known as Kallra. Kallra has already subjugated most of the wilderness bordering Jasale to the west and Epesa to the southeast. However, the ruler of Kallra, Emperor Dahal, is beginning to find that insufficient…_

Trotts Ivaar of the Crimson Cross tribe strode out of his home. Today was going to be the best day of his life. Today, his sixteenth birthday, his Nameday, was when he would finally be recognized as a man, his cheeks painted with the red crosses of his people. And today, he would be given his Crimson Cross sword. He checked the one at his hip. It was a fine weapon, of stout iron, and had served him well in his training, but he knew that it was not a patch on the mens' weapons. He had sparred his father often enough to have gotten a good look at the Nameday blade his father had received at sixteen. That long, slightly curved, single-edged blade was light as a feather, and never dulled. His father, however, had been Weeping Winds tribe before marrying his mother – the white teardrops painted on his face made that apparent enough – and excellent as those blades were, the Crimson Cross swords were legendary even among Epesans. In fact, his older brother Temperon's sword was as superior to their father's as Blackhawk Ivaar Windweeper's was to Trotts'.

He came to the square, as he had been instructed – they still called it a square, though it was round – and slowed. As in all Nameday ceremonies, the women of the village who had had their Namedays already, fourteen and up, were lined up on either side of him, with the youngest at the centre of the square and getting older the closer they got to him. As he strode slowly down the row of women, each pair kissed him on either cheek. As he got closer and closer to the podium at the centre, where the unmarried, un-Promised women stood, the kisses were accompanied by more and more giggles and smiles, and a couple of them even pinched his butt! Determined to keep his cool, he stepped up on the raised platform, where his mother, Kelesea, chief of the Crimson Cross, stood facing him.

"Trotts Ivaar, give me your sword." Trotts handed her his sword with a twinge of regret – he'd been to enough Nameday ceremonies to know what came next, and his sword wasn't a bad weapon. Wheeling her son's sword over her head, she drove it into the stones of the platform. The blade snapped six inches from the hilt. Kelesea held out her hand, and Blackhawk handed her a sheathed sword and belt. Buckling it on her son, Kelesea continued the ceremony. "Your clan gives you this sword, for your protection as well as theirs."

The Crimson Cross chief took a small jar of red paint and, dipping her finger, she drew a cross under each of his eyes. "Your clan welcomes you, though they know not your name." Somewhere nearby, a wyvern shrieked. "Trotts Ivaar, what is your n-"

Kelesea's voice was cut short as a green-and-black armoured wyvern knight's lance pierced her back and drove her to the ground. Blackhawk pulled free his sword, white blade gleaming in the sunlight. Six more wyvern riders flanked the one that had killed Kelesea, dropping torches on any building that struck their fancy. Not far behind them, cavaliers, great knights, and paladins charged into the village, killing any in their path. Trotts vaguely heard bows being drawn, but everything seemed so far away. He just stood there, paralysed, unable to draw his sword, unable to run, to do anything at all. The green-and-black knight loomed in front of him suddenly, raising his lance. Blackhawk ran in front of him, sword bloody, and shoved him out of the way. As he fell from the podium, his head hit the stones of the square, and the world disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2: From the Ashes

Again, I don't own Fire Emblem, just my creations. Well, I hope you enjoyed chapter 1, although I guess you wouldn't be here otherwise. So have fun!

**Chapter Two: From the Ashes**

Blackhawk faced the wyvern knight that had killed his wife. The man wore the green-and-black armour of his squad, with long, unkempt black hair eclipsing his right eye. He had the look of a fanatic in his smile and sunken left eye.

"Ah, Blackhawk Windweeper," spat the rider. "Blademaster of clan Crimson Cross, husband to Kelesea, father of the Ivaar family. I've been sent to kill you. Don't take it personally, my friend; I was sent to kill everyone in this backwater village. I was warned especially of you and Kelesea, however – you, a deserting captain of Kallra's army, well on his way to becoming a general, and Kelesea, the temptress swordmaster of your homeland. Kelesea, however, was no great challenge… I hope she made you blademaster for a reason."

Blackhawk's eyes narrowed, and he dropped into a fighting crouch. "Who do you think you are, speaking ill of the greatest tribe of the Epesans? Of my wife?"

The man's eerie smile broadened. "I am called Scream, by my master. General Scream, by most else. I've delayed this long enough, Blackhawk. I'm killing you now."

Heeling his wyvern forward into a charge, Scream levelled his lance at Blackhawk's chest. At what seemed the last possible moment, Trotts' father jumped up, landing on the wyvern's head. He stomped his heel down, jarring the animal, and aimed a slash at Scream's neck. It glanced off the man's high metal collar with a ringing noise. The wyvern shook itself, and Blackhawk flew. As he fell, he saw his town burning, mindless slaughter everywhere by the Kallra army. He rolled as he hit the ground to soften the impact, but he felt his sword arm's collarbone break. He switched arms, not caring. Kelesea had made him Blademaster for a reason.

Scream came at him again. This time, he dodged the man's first thrust, and parried the second. As the third came, he feinted left, then right, and charged straight for the man's undefended side. As his sword just began to punch through the rider's breastplate, a charging cavalier suddenly knocked him down. Hooves trampled him, crushing ribs, legs, shattering his jawbone. And he knew it was over. Scream dismounted, the white sword sliding to the ground with the impact of his feet hitting ground. Raising his lance, the man loomed over Blackhawk's motionless form. He lowered himself until his creepy face was a foot from Blackhawk's.

"That was fun." He stabbed down twice, quickly, and it was over. Mounting, he shouted, rallying his troops, and flew off, leaving the village to burn.

Trotts awoke three days later to find only ashes and the stench of death. Rising slowly and stiffly, his eyes scanned vainly for some sign of life, but he only saw smouldering rubble and corpses. "Hello? HELLO?" Scrabbling about, hoping against hope, he searched the ruins for hours. Finally, he sunk down and leaned against what had been Kenzie Tyral's house, and cried. He wept so long that the ashes at his feet turned to mud, so long that he couldn't shed another tear. And when he could cry no longer, he just sat there, wishing he could.

At length he rose, and found where the podium had been. Turning Kelesea's body over, he looked into her sightless eyes. After staring at the ashes he had risen from for so long, he had found his name. "My name… is Phoenix." Closing her eyes with his fingertips, Phoenix Ivaar Crimsoncross strode from the village without a look back.


End file.
